ouch to the
stephanotis in the buttonhole of his blue frock coat. "And you know you
want to see her happily married to the man she loves, and who loves her
with all his heart."

"Heigho! I suppose so."

"And I've come down to ask if you'd like to see her. They're just
putting the last finishing touches."

"So we may," cried Sir Mark eagerly. "Does she look nice?"

"Lovely, uncle; all but--"

The girl ceased speaking, and looked conscious.

"Eh? All but what?"

"You will see, uncle, directly. I will not say any more about it. She
would have her own way."

"Here, I'll come at once."

"No, no, uncle dear; I'll go and fetch her down."

"And make a parade of her all through this confounded caravanserai of an
hotel!" cried the old man testily. "I can't think why she persisted in
having it away from home."

"Yes, you can, uncle dear," said the girl soothingly. "It was very,
very natural. But do, do be gentle with her. She is so ready to burst
into tears, and I want her to go off as happy as the day."

"Of course, Edie, my dear; of course. I'll bottle it all up, and then
you and your old fool of an uncle can have a good cry together all to
ourselves, eh? But I say, little one, no hitches this time in the
anchorage."

"There very nearly was one, uncle."

"What!" roared the old man, flushing.

"But I set it right with a telegram."

"What--what was it? Stratton going to shuffle?"

"Oh, uncle, absurd! The bouquet for the bride had not come."

"Pooh! A woman can be married without a bouquet."

"No, no, uncle! But I sent off a message, and Mr Guest brought it
himself."

"Then he has been again."

"Uncle! Why, he's Malcolm Stratton's best man."

"He's the worst man I know. I loathe him."

"You don't, uncle."

"Yes, I do, and I'm not blind. Do you suppose I want to be left to a
desolate old age. Isn't it bad enough to lose Myra without--"

"Oh, uncle!" cried the girl, whose cheeks were crimson, "there isn't a
moment to lose;" and she darted to the door, leaving the admiral
chuckling.

"A wicked little pirate! How soon she showed the red flag aloft. Ah,
well, it's nature--nature, and one mustn't be selfish. Not much chance.
I don't know what we're born for, unless it's to be slaves to other
people."

He turned over his newspaper, and began running down the list of
marriages.

"Here they are," he muttered, "all going the same way," and he stood
musing sadly upon the question